


How We Do

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bickering, M/M, Riding, Sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis shakes his head, surges forward to nip at Zayn’s lower lip, slipping his clean hand into the hair at Zayn’s nape. “I want <i>you</i> to fuck yourself on <i>me</i>,” he corrects, when Zayn’s lip looks swollen and bright. Details are important, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We Do

**Author's Note:**

> Based heavily on [this](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdu50cpbJw1qa5vv9.jpg), [this](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdu516jacA1qa5vv9.gif), and p’s proposal of “wow but okay what about that time they did this with no clothes on because i'm team zayn bouncing on louis' lap.” Dirty bickering, shifting dominance, and an empty, fleeting, boyish threat of violence. Title from the Rita Ora song by the same name.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘kay,” Zayn moans, “c’mon, that’s good, you’re not _that_ much bigger.” He bats at Louis’ shoulder ineffectually, closes his eyes and lets his hips roll back against Louis’ hand. 

 Louis huffs, flicks at Zayn’s hip with his free hand, and crooks his fingers in deeper. “You still want it, princess.”

 Which... is infuriatingly true. Zayn settles for rolling his hips and chewing on his lip, rather than glaring at Louis like he wants to, because he’d much rather get fucked than just bicker. It’s a brilliant plan, too- they couldn’t get the actual couch they use onstage, of course, because that’s stowed away in one of the massive trucks with all the equipment, but the loveseat in Zayn’s hotel room does the job.

 “I’m gonna _come_ ,” Zayn says, leaning forward to mumble it into the soft, slightly sweaty fringe that’s flopped over Louis’ temple. It’s the best argument he has. 

 “If you come I’ll have to hurt you,” Louis huffs, but he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the cushion next to his hip.

 Zayn shudders and digs his fingers into Louis’ arms, the blunt edges of his fingernails leaving crescent marks in Louis’ golden tan. “Wouldn’t,” he says, and rolls his hips, grinding his cock up Louis’ stomach. “You _wanna_ fuck me.”

 Louis shakes his head, surges forward to nip at Zayn’s lower lip, slipping his clean hand into the hair at Zayn’s nape. “I want _you_ to fuck yourself on _me_ ,” he corrects, when Zayn’s lip looks swollen and bright. Details are important, of course.

 “Then fuckin’ put it in me,” Zayn says, raising an eyebrow and licking at his throbbing lip. “I bet you can’t stay still, though.”

 Squinting at Zayn defiantly, Louis wraps his hand around his cock and gives it a few tugs before directing the tip to Zayn’s entrance. “Why would I wanna sit still anyway?” He retorts, but then Zayn’s pushing down, hot and tight around his cock, and Louis can’t really think.

 “Just said I’d have t’do all th’work,” Zayn breathes, and his voice is deceptively steady, just hushed like the air is being slowly pressed out of his lungs. “Make up your mind, Lou.” 

 Louis opens his mouth and it just- stays. Zayn’s eyes have fallen shut, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and his face has gone tense even as he’s slowly exhaling, sinking down on Louis’ dick and it’s so much to deal with, the visual and the _feel_ , and Louis gives himself a moment to just radiate in it. A smart remark can wait on this.

 “Fuck,” Zayn hisses, and Louis squirms, “don’t _stop_!” but Zayn is already leaning up, reaching wildly for the tube that Louis’ left half down the crack between couch cushions. “Sorry, I can’t- you fucking- lube that _up_ , shit’s sake.” 

 Affronted, Louis lets him pour a cold drizzle into his hand and slicks his dick up again. Zayn seems unconvinced, watching him with narrowed eyes, and Louis huffs, wipes his hand on Zayn’s thigh for his troubles. “Do it yourself, bossy.” 

 “If you’d done it _right_ th’first _time_ ,” Zayn starts, and rolls his eyes, gives Louis’ prick a wicked twist with his own wet fingers. 

 It works, perhaps a little _too_ well- Zayn sinks down so fast it surprises him, startles a tiny sound out of him when he guides Louis’ dick with one hand reached behind himself and the next second he’s firmly seated in Lou’s lap, hot and heavy and full. There’s a full body shiver, his thighs shaking helplessly, and he stares at Louis with wide eyes, seemingly frozen, lower lip shiny-damp from being caught between his teeth. 

 Louis’ voice is strained and wavering, his smirk soft at the edges, but he won’t miss an opportunity to jab at Zayn like this. “Good enough, then?” he chokes out, hands curled into Zayn’s hips in a tight grip.

 Zayn sucks his lower lip between his teeth and closes his eyes, slowly moves his hand from behind himself to Louis’ shoulder. His fingers play gently along the line of muscle until he can thumb at Louis’ collarbone. “S’good,” he confirms, finally, his voice already _gone_ , raspy and whisper-thin. 

 Nodding quickly in agreement, Louis licks over his lips and rubs at the dip of Zayn’s hips, slow, unsteady little circles with his thumbs. “Be good, then,” he says, low, “and do like we said, yeah?”

 “Twat,” Zayn mumbles, and spreads his palms at the front of Louis’ shoulders, the heels of his hands pressing into his pecs. It’s almost painful to watch the concentration on his face as he lifts himself up, so Louis doesn’t, keeps his eyes on Zayn’s stomach instead, the way the muscles tense and shift under his winter-paled skin, the way his semi bobs with the movement. 

 They groan in unison when Zayn sinks down again, but Zayn doesn’t stop moving. He rolls his hips, grinding his arse down into Louis’ lap, and then lifts himself up again, thighs tensing with exertion before releasing and starting the process over again, still painfully slow, burning white hot and getting better by the second.

 “Tease,” Louis grits out, sliding his hands back, fingers digging slightly into the curve of Zayn’s arse. 

 Zayn smiles triumphantly, picks up his pace a little, skin smacking against Louis’ with a soft sound. “So good, Lou,” he whines, brows raised and eyes closed, mouth falling ajar as he fucks himself on Louis’ cock, hands pressing Louis back against the couch.

 “Yeah you are,” Louis agrees, settles a hand at the small of Zayn’s back and pushes him forward so that their chests meet, and Zayn’s cock skids up against Louis’ stomach. Zayn whines, his hips grinding forward like he’s the one doing the fucking, instinctual, and only seems to remember their current arrangement when he leans back. The change in angle has Louis dragging differently inside him as they fit back together, has him nudging up inside him in a new way and Zayn’s head falls forward onto Louis’ shoulder, his mouth open but unable to speak. 

 Louis tilts his head into Zayn’s neck and grazes his teeth against the hot, hot skin, follows his trail with his tongue. “Y’got really generous, babe, with th’lube,” he grunts, digging his fingers into Zayn’s arse, lifting him a little and then shifting his hips up when Zayn moves down. “Almost feel like a bird, shit.”

 “Like you’d know,” Zayn laughs, breathless, _shoves_ his hips forward into Louis’ and rolls his ass back. “Tell me ’m better.”

 Groaning, Louis nods, nips at the ink on Zayn’s collarbone. “Tighter, for sure,” he agrees, dragging his teeth across Zayn’s shoulder and helping pick up the pace with tight, short thrusts of his hips.

 “Better,” Zayn repeats, and it’s not as obvious now but he’s still shaking, fine tremors lodged under his skin unconscious as his heavy breathing, the blunt press of his fingernails into Louis’ shoulderblades. 

 It takes him a minute, eyes squeezed shut as he pushes his hips up harder, pulls Zayn down with more force. “ _Better_ ,” he spits, finally, shuddering as his skin grows shiny with sweat, heady warmth settling low in his belly.

 Zayn swallows hard and he can tell they’re both about to lose it, can feel it in Louis, thrumming, but he forces his eyes open, nudges at Louis’ chin with his knuckles until he looks at him, and smiles, grinds himself down until Louis’ balls are nudging his arse and _clenches_.

 Louis throws his head back against the back of the couch and loses it, fingertips bruisingly tight at Zayn’s arse and a loud moan half-caught in his throat as he comes hard. As if it weren’t enough, Zayn rides him through it, bouncing on Louis’ prick unapologetically and moaning, too. Louis belatedly scrambles a hand down to wrap around his cock, fist pumping loosely and frantically, barely in time with the way he’s still moving around Louis but _good_ , so good.

 Zayn presses his face into Louis’ exposed throat, wraps his own hand around Louis’ on his cock, squeezing their fingers together tightly. It’s enough, then, and it’s exactly what he wanted; his vision goes spotty and then blindingly bright as he feels Louis collapse under him, feels the _heat_ of the moment and someone- he’s not sure if it’s Louis or himself- slides a thumb just under the head of his cock. 

 When he opens his eyes again, the rushing in his ears slowly fading out, it’s to Louis’ breathless laughter. “Nice show, love, come on my chin, think that’s a first.” 

 “Oh, fuck _off_ ,” Zayn moans, and bites at the nearest bit of Lou he can reach without moving, which turns out to be his ear.

 “You’ll have to gimme a minute f’that,” Louis grumbles, patting at Zayn’s bum. “Off, go on,” he chirps, and for a moment he almost appreciates how quickly the feel of being inside Zayn can go from sexy to very unsexy, depending on how much blood his cock’s getting.

 Zayn shivers, huffs. “Okay, okay.” He’s careful and not as quick as Louis might like, shifting himself off of him, backing down his thighs until he can fall over on the empty cushions, turn his head into the back of the couch. “Gimme a flannel.”

 Louis drapes an arm across the back of the couch, smirking. “That’d require getting up and I’ve possibly lost feeling in my legs, mate.”

 Zayn glares at him, or attempts to, but he’s sure it only manages grumpy kitten levels. “You came in my arse, I think you c’n get me a flannel. Lou, c’mon.”

 “Up to my _chin_ , Zayn,” Louis reminds him. For a minute he considers pinching Zayn’s calf but abstains, in the end, in favor of giving him a look-over, all afterglowy and pretty, quiff floppy and damp.

 Zayn just grins, then pokes at Louis’ side. It’s more of a nudge, just pushing his knuckles against a slight curve of stomach. “‘s a wonder I managed, deserve props for that, y’know. Given that you did barely anythin’ to help out.”

 Indignant, Louis glares down at Zayn. “What does that even _mean_ , mate? ‘d you forget the bit where I was inside you for a minute, there? My hand on your prick? Ring any bells, yeah?”

 “Uh,” Zayn rolls his eyes, taps at Louis’ hip like he’s counting out a list. “Mate, you were already way done by the time I got there, nowhere _near_ where I needed you t’be, and then your hand was nice but I had to give you directions like th’first time. So. It didn’t really ring any bells for me, nah.” He’s having a hard time not laughing at Louis, because he looks _so_ huffy about it, and Zayn can’t help trying to goad him on a bit.

 “The _bollocks_ on you,” Louis squawks, swatting at Zayn’s hand. “That was a brilliant fuck!” He purses his lips, turns his nose up and stands on slightly wobbly legs. “I’m cleaning up, and I _won’t_ bring back a flannel because you’re an insufferable, ungrateful twat.”

 Zayn’s only a tiny bit sad to see him go, but _watching_ Louis leave is always pretty good. “Yes y’will,” he calls after him. 

 “Shan’t!” Louis declares, and Zayn grins, only winces a little as he follows.


End file.
